Battle Scars
by RestIsRustandStardust
Summary: "Conditioning the Avengers, they had called it. They had called it non-obligatory. Yeah, right." A one-shot on how the world made the Avengers stop and think.


**All rights to Stan Lee and the MCU**

Conditioning the Avengers, they had called it. They had called it non-obligatory. Yeah, right. But they were all there: Steve Rogers; Tony Stark; Wanda Maximoff; Natasha Romanoff; Vision; Sam Wilson; Clint Barton; T'Challa; Scott Lang. Peter Parker, Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner, Rhodey, and Thor Odinson were notably absent. _These issues_ _did not pertain to those particular_ members, they had said.

The UN had decided that the Sovokia Accords was not about to work anytime soon. The bloody costs that came of that particular set of laws needed to be respected. It was actually T'Challa that convinced the Avengers to do it. If the group was to fight again as a unit, this was the only obligation they were "encouraged" to attend.

Punishment, more like it.

Each person was strapped into a small, glass bubble - enough room for a seat and restraints, that's all. The nine clear balls were in a circle on the top of the Wakandan Palace. The palace wasn't so much of a castle as it was a Stark Tower look-alike. This was the only place all the Avengers could agree and feel safe to participate in a such a delicate procedure. Wanda and Steve were particularly nervous for this, but they were all ready. The bubbles' doors sealed seamlessly into the walls with a soft whoosh. The nine Avengers were sitting in their metal chairs, chin, neck, shoulders, upper arms, elbows, wrists, waist, and legs strapped down. For several seconds, nothing happened. They all tried to move their heads to look at each other, and Wanda was about to speak up when the lights dimmed in the room and a holo-projection appeared in the middle of the room. It was the head of a rather generic looking woman with an equally generic soft, smooth voice.

"Welcome, Avengers. Thank you for all agreeing to be here. As a result of recent events, the United Nations has decided that this will be the best way to help you all gain some . . . perspective. This will be a seventeen hour event. This will be difficult for you - we hope it will be. While we know that most of you could get out of the protection bubbles with some amount of effort, but we hope that you won't. Let me remind you that this is a mental exercise. You will be put into distress, but you _will_ recover. How this will work is that your bubbles will be turned around so you will not be facing each other. Holograms will be projected in front of you, and separate speakers will go into each, so you will not be able to see or hear anything in a different bubble than yours.

Sam Wilson shuddered, Tony Stark closed his eyes slowly, and Steve Rodgers took deep breath. The rotating head disappeared, and the bubbles moved around quietly and quickly. A quiet hum began as faces began to appear in front of each Avenger.

Scott Lang was the first to break - it wasn't necessarily his fault, as he was only the latest addition to the team. He wasn't prepared for something like this, though no one really was. The same, cool voice replied, and a picture of a thirty year old man.

"Grayson Mintt. Thirty four years old, technician at Pym Technologies HQ. Killed during Yellowjacket-Ant Man conflict. Had a wife and a newborn daughter, the latter of whom eventually was given to his widow's sister because the wife killed herself after her husband's death. Meghan Triops. Twenty two year old security guard and Pym technologies. Killed during Yellowjacket-Ant Man conflict. Mother, who relied on her daughter's income supplement, is now in a homeless shelter." By the seventh face, a single tear was running down Scott's face.

Sam Wilson was next. His nerves were fraying, but he didn't break until a solid ten minutes in. He had made it past members of his army squadron that had been blown up, past partners who had blown their own brains out from PTSD, he had even made it past Riley. But then there was that picture of a little girl holding a stuffed bunny.

"Amaria Sanchez. Six years old, firstborn of a young couple who worked and met at the Triskellion. Her parents both died in the battle there, and the young girl was trampled to death in the confusion that followed. She was alone, with only her beloved bunny by her side."

Then it was Wanda with the old woman.

"Iminathi Prinsloo. Seventy three years old, a South African cook who was taking care of her grandchildren while her son was in drug rehabilitation and the children's mother had left the family. She died in the mind-controlled attack on Johannesburg, where she was picking up her son after his last day of rehab. He quickly relapsed soon after her death, and the two twin grandchildren were split up into foster care." A picture of two three year old children was projected briefly in front of Wanda, and she wished her arms were free to cover her eyes because those two kids - the twin brother and sister - were clinging to each other with such ferocity, with such devotion . . . just like her and Pietro. Wanda broke with this, after an hour of trying to keep her tears in.

And then it was Tony, after the picture of the young couple in front of him after about three hours of this hell called "therapy".

"Business tycoon and philanthropist Ezra Martindale, age forty five, and his personal assistant Jessica Lin, age thirty nine. The two colleagues were also in a relationship. Jessica Lin was doing work in the Martindale Tower when it collapsed during the Battle of New York and she, obviously, perished. Ezra Martindale was blinded and paralyzed from his waist down when he tried to run into the ruins to save Lin. He later committed suicide." Jessica Lin, though a completely different ethnicity, all of a sudden looked exactly like Pepper. Tony let his sobs break through. It could have been Pepper. Instead, it was someone just like her. Why? Because of Tony. Because of him.

Then it was Clint Barton, about thirty minutes after Tony broke. A young family was projected in front of him.

"Mother and data analyst for the South Korean government Soo-lin Kim aged forty and father and also data analyst for the South Korean government Joon-ho Kim aged thirty eight pictured here with their children Jun-seo, aged seven, Ji-min, aged five, and Seo-yun, aged one. They died in the Battle of Seoul, fleeing from the fight-scene."

T'Challa caved about six hours in. Then it was Vision - he didn't necessarily break, but he started glowing, and his restraints began to melt, but he stayed in place and stared at the holograms flashing in front of him.

Natasha Romanoff as able to hold herself together for twelve hours. But she was hungry, she was exhausted, and she was cramped from sitting in the same position for hours. But despite this mental shit she was taking, she stayed strong through most of it. The Red Room taught you how to handle torture, and this wasn't therapy for the Avengers. This was hell. Natasha was still glad she did it - well, glad isn't really the right word. Perhaps she felt it was her duty to take part in this "therapy". But despite the positive effects she knew it would have, despite her knowing that the Avengers would be much more careful from now on, it was torture all the same.

Anyways, Natasha broke when the hologram of a young girl with a pair brown braids. A young girl that she recognized.

"A Red Room recruit, her exact age and her name unknown. Mind you, Natasha Romanoff, it took us quite awhile to get any information on some Red Room escapades - but we have some inside spies as well. Anyways, this is a fellow recruit that you killed on the request of Madame B. She is estimated to be at about thirteen years old, which would be your age at the time of her death." A single, stoic tear ran down Natasha's otherwise expressionless face.

"Anastasiya." Natasha whispered, her short fingernails digging into the armrests. Fingernail marks scratched themselves deeply into the wood.

And then it was Steve. As always, the last soldier standing. In his time in the army, he learned that nothing could bother him, at least externally. And of course, he was literally made to be the perfect soldier. But every soldier falls at some point, and Steve fell at the sixteen hour mark. He was hungry, dirty, and really needed to pee. But this wasn't the trenches - he couldn't just give an inspiring speech and hope everyone would be okay and try to to let anyone's death press his conscience. Here, he had to face it all. And as each face of an old army buddy who died in the line of fire, as each face of a young child, as each face of another goddamned person flashed in front of his eyes, Steve Rodgers began to crack. Now, it would be a lie to say that one face changed him. It was really just a collection of cracks that split into a chasm. But maybe it was this little boy. A little indian boy with big brown eyes, a skinny frame, and was clutching a Captain American figure to his chest in the picture.

"Rohan Kumar. Nine years old, though he does look younger. He suffered from asthma, arrhythmia, scoliosis, and was recovering from tuberculosis in New York hospital that was destroyed in 2012. His parents had died from TB, but his aunt sent him to New York for treatment with her entire life savings. He was getting better, and he enjoyed watching Captain America reels from the World War Two Era - he wanted to be an American soldier when he grew up."

And that was it. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Steve Rodgers began unabashedly sobbing, letting the tears run down his face and guttural groans erupted from his throat.

Imagine what the world would have said if they had seen their noble, if fractured, Avengers team when they were released from there bubbles. The holograms had stopped at the same time, and the spheres slowly turned back to the center pf the room. The same woman as before was projected in the center.

"Thank you." She said simply. Her image flickered once and disappeared, and the doors to the glass bubbles released with a hiss. All the Avengers stumbled out of their cages. Every single on of them was crying to some degree. Their hair was mussed, their faces blotchy, and they were all desperate to use the bathroom and eat something. Attendants rushed to their sides and helped their cramped legs make it to the bathrooms that were across the hall. None of the team looked each other in the eye, for they couldn't bear to let the others know the death that they each caused.

The Avengers never spoke of this incident.

But, then, they also made an effort to save as many lives as they could in the future.

For these people were their battle scars.

 **A/N: The writing's little dark, and a little crappy if I'm being honest here, but something that always bothered me about the Avengers was their lack of compassion for the average civilian caught in the crosshairs. So, voila, this emerged. As always, review and favorite!**

 **~RestIsRustandStardust**


End file.
